


Run All the Lights

by Theoroark



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Adrenaline, F/F, Semi-Public Sex, Street Racing, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: Sombra certainly didn'tintendto enter a street race on the way back from Maximilien's casino. Widowmaker isn't complaining.
Relationships: Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Run All the Lights

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday gift for the wonderful Diana [@dikatsuu](https://twitter.com/dikatsuu)\- please follow her and her amazing art if you aren't already!

It starts out as work, or something approximating it.

Doomfist doesn’t trust Maximilien as far as he can throw him. And even though that’s quite far, he still brings Sombra and Widowmaker with him to Montecarlo. He’s right out of prison and hasn’t quite reclaimed his throne yet, but Gabe’s in line and Widow seems to like him. And those are the two people left in Talon that Sombra can actually stand, so she doesn’t want to be left behind. She tags along but spends most of the evening bored at the bar, listening to Maximilien passive aggressively snipe at Doomfist while Widow cleans up at craps.

Just when the conversation she’s eavesdropping on is getting interesting, Maximilien’s guards stand by for Vialli’s goons. As Doomfist and Widow take them out Sombra slips to the valet lot. She swipes the key and speeds past the baffled omnics waiting for a call, tossing them some credits to make up for the lost tip.

She parks the bike at the foot of the swelling staircase that leads to the casino entrance. Doomfist and Widow take their sweet time descending, talking to each other and barely glancing at Sombra. Sombra revs the engine. The solar motor doesn’t make nearly as satisfying a racket as the gas ones she’s seen in movies, but it does make her coworkers jolt and scowl.

“I’ve informed Lacroix and Reyes about our next targets,” Doomfist tells Sombra, when the two of them finally make their way to the curb. “We rendezvous in Venice tomorrow night. You’ll be helping Reyes infiltrate Vialli’s base of operations.” 

“Will you let me buy a drink there, at least?” Sombra asks. He ignores her and turns to Widow.

“Thank you for your help in there, Lacroix,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then he steps into the black Aston Martin that’s pulled up in front of Sombra. Widow watches the car go and then looks over Sombra’s bike.

“You bring a helmet?” Sombra asks. 

Widow sighs and sits down behind her. Sombra glances down and can’t help but notice how the slit of Widow’s skirt slips and hitches to expose Widow’s thigh. She quickly turns her head back but it’s so distracting that when Widow says, “Just get us to the pickup site,” she can’t come up with a snappy retort. Sombra just pulls away, into the city streets.

Montecarlo’s bustling at night. People are so concerned with getting to the next club or getting to their hotel room that no one notices the stream of concerned revelers trickling out of Maximilien’s casino, and few heads turn towards the two women in ball gowns weaving through traffic on a motorbike. It’s why Sombra loves cities– with so many people to hide in and hack, she can stay anonymous while finding out everything about everyone else. With the wind on her face, conversations blowing past them, and Widow’s arms wrapped tight around her waist, Sombra finds herself smiling as she drives towards the empty lot where a ship’s waiting for them.

The lot’s on the outskirts of the city, and eventually Sombra exits uptown and starts driving down quieter, seedier streets. She doesn’t think anything of it at first– she spent a lot of her childhood on streets like these, and there’s no one in this town who could touch her and Widow fighting together. 

When she hears the sounds of engines approaching, she doesn’t think much of that either. Until a bike zooms past her and clips her side, sending them spinning towards a wall. Sombra jerks the handles and rights the bike before impact, but the bike speeds past without so much as slowing. Sombra sets her feet on the ground and rotates to face Widow. Widow’s still got her arms around Sombra’s waist, but her eyes are fixed on the disappearing tail light of the bike. 

“You okay?” Sombra asks.

“I wish I had my gun.”

“So, yeah.” Sombra starts the motor again but before she can rejoin the street, another bike flies by. A few seconds after that, another. Sombra tilts her head and watches the second catch up to the first, and they jockey to overtake each other as they turn the corner and disappear.

“It’s a street race,” Widow says behind her.

“Yeah,” Sombra says. “Huh. I would’ve thought this place was too bougie for that.”

“Whoever ran into us is competing too.” 

“Yeah, must be.”

“So let’s go. We can still beat them.”

Sombra takes a moment to look at Widow again. Widow is grinning, but not like she’s joking. It’s that smile she gets right after she lands a shot, when she hears “kill confirmed” in her earpiece. It’s a deadly serious smile.

It’s also hot as fuck. Sombra revs the motorbike’s engine and peels out, speeding along the route the other bikes took.

The two that just passed them are in view when Sombra rounds the corner. They’re still neck and neck, and Sombra can see them jostling each other as they head towards a bridge. What they’re doing is very dumb, the sensible part of her brain supplies. The other riders look like they’re wearing leathers, and they’re definitely wearing helmets. Sombra and Widow are in evening gowns. The chassis of the bike already feels too hot against Sombra’s legs. If they actually crash, they’ll be fucked.

Another, far less sensible part of her brain, reminds her that the bike she’s driving is cutting edge tech. Higher top speeds than anything on the commercial market, turns on a dime and navigates difficult terrain with ease. Because it’s Talon, it also has weaponry, when they get to the guy that hit them.

Widow moves her head forward so her chin is grazing Sombra’s shoulder. Even over the wind and the engine, Sombra can hear how fast her breathing has become. Sombra guns it.

The bridge and the connecting roads make for a significant straightaway, so Sombra has plenty of time to build up speed. They scream past the two motorbikes and Sombra almost wishes they were going slower, so she could glance in the rearview mirrors and get a good look at their expressions. As it is, her eyes are fixed on the road and the dash, trying to keep top speed as long as she can before she has to turn in 400 meters, 300, 200, 100, 50– 

Widow’s breath hitches in her ear and Sombra squeezes the brakes just enough so they stay upright as they round the bend. They tilt though. The skirt of Sombra’s dress grazes against the ground and Widow is pressed into her. Sombra can feel Widow’s breasts on her back and she’s almost disappointed when the bike is fully vertical again. 

As the enter a straightaway again, Widow gasps. Ahead of them is the biker who clipped them– and just past him, a glowing checkered line in the pavement. Sombra’s accelerating fast again and they’re gaining, but–

“We’re not going to make it,” Widow says. Sombra doesn’t respond. Just smiles and flicks a switch. A holographic aiming pad appears floating over the dash, and Sombra swipes it back to Widow. 

Widow doesn’t even seem to think. Almost as soon as Sombra’s hand is back on the handlebars, twin missiles are rocketing out of their bike and towards the one in front of them. They perfectly impact the motorcycle and it explodes. The guy flies off the bike and sails over the finish line. He lands in a crumpled heap in front of a crowd Sombra somehow hadn’t quite noticed before. One of them is holding a medal. They look between the biker on the ground and Sombra and Widow as the two women cross the finish line. 

Sombra stares at the person holding the medal as she comes to a stop in front of them. Then she reaches out, grabs it, and peels away. The spectators are still shocked silent and Widow is laughing in her ears as they roar back into the city, hidden in a crowd again. 

“That was fantastic,” Widow says, when Sombra finally parks in an alleyway. She dismounts, stretching her long legs. “I feel… incredible.”

“Good,” Sombra says. She holds the medal out to Widow. Widow frowns. 

“You were the driver,” she says. “It’s yours.”

“It was your idea. You should have it.”

Widow makes an annoyed little huffing noise. “I’m not the false modesty type, Sombra. You did all the work. You won it. Its yours.”

“Okay,” Sombra says. “I won it. So I can give it to any pretty girl I want.”

Widow stares at Sombra for a moment. Then she takes the medal. Then she kisses Sombra fiercely, crowding her back against the bike. Sombra laughs into the kiss at first. But Widow’s serious about this, her hand goes from Sombra’s waist to cupping her breast, rucking up the dress as she does. Sombra’s gasping soon enough. Especially when Widow breaks the kiss and drops to her knees. 

“Fuck,” Sombra breathes. Widow says nothing, just pulls Sombra’s dress up. Sombra has to take it from her, afraid Widow will rip it if she doesn’t help. Widow pulls Sombra’s panties barely halfway down her thighs, like she’s so impatient she can’t quite make it all the way. 

But Widow does take a moment to look up at Sombra. Sombra nods. Widow shoves her face forward and licks into Sombra’s cunt almost violently at first, before slowing into something more pleasurable. 

Sombra takes another step back, only to be met with the metal of the bike. Widow’s tongue grazes her clit– just grazes, purposefully teasing, but Sombra’s knees go weak anyway. She sits down on the leather seat and spreads her legs wider. Widow makes a hungry noise that vibrates through Sombra, and Sombra tips her head back and digs her nails into the cushion. 

Widow’s still trying to tease, but her hands are gripping Sombra’s thighs hard. She’s just as impatient as Sombra is. Sombra pushes her head up a bit and at first Widow resists, but then she’s licking at Sombra’s clit, eager and constant. Sombra bites her knuckles to muffle her moans when she cums. 

Widow stands up. Her mouth and her eyes are bright. “We should get going,” she says. “Gabe’s waiting for us at pickup.”

“Yeah,” Sombra says. Widow doesn’t object when she kisses her again, though. As they remount the bike, Widow settled behind Sombra again, wraps her arms around her waist, and kisses her neck. 

-

Gabe glares at them as they pull up to the Talon ship. “You’re an hour late,” he says. “And neither of you answered your comms. What the hell happened?”

Sombra and Widow look at each other. Widow’s a mess– her hair half out of its updo, her dress torn and dirty, a scrape on her shin and her brow slick with sweat. Sombra can’t imagine she looks any better herself. They turn back to Gabe. He folds his arms. They continue to stand silently.

“Well,” Widow eventually attempts. “We ah. Got lost.” 

“Lost,” Gabe repeats. Sombra jumps in. 

“You see, Akande marked down the wrong lot, and our batteries died trying to figure it out, and–“

“Forget it.” Gabe turns and heads towards the ship. “Come on. You need to get fitted for your Masquerade costumes still.”

-

They don’t really talk about the race. But they do start dating, some time after it. And eventually Widow invites Sombra to stay at the Chateau for a weekend. 

Sombra had built the house up in her head. So she’s a bit disappointed when they pull up to a rather run down looking manor. Widow seems so proud of it, though, that it’s hard not to be endeared. And when Sombra goes up to Widow’s room to drop off her stuff she notices the medal dangling off the corner of the vanity mirror, and she laughs. 

Widow disappears for a couple hours, claiming shopping. Sombra putters around the place, peeking in every catacomb she can and tilting the spines of books in an attempt to reveal secret passages. Her efforts are fruitless but Widow comes home soon enough. She scurries past Sombra at first, pecking her on the cheek and hauling large bags from boutiques upstairs. She returns solely with a small plastic bag from a takeout place. 

“You going to tell me what that’s about?” Sombra asks as Widow divvies up their lamb kebab. 

“Soon,” Widow says serenely. Sombra rolls her eyes but she has good food and Widow’s wearing the yoga pants her ass looks great in. She can’t complain. 

And Widow keeps her word. The next morning, Sombra’s woken up by Widow shaking her. 

“Hrrg.” 

“Get up,” Widow says, despite Sombra eloquent argument to the contrary. “I got you a housewarming gift.”

Sombra pushes herself slightly upright and rubs her eyes. “Not movin’ in,” she says. 

“Close enough.” Widow says. She’s practically bouncing on the bed. “Open them.”

Sombra sighs and sits up all the way, letting the duvet pool in her lap. She picks up the present closest to her. It’s box covered it purple wrapping paper with a red bow, completely cube shaped. It’s the kind of perfect present you only see in old cartoons. Sombra half expects to find a ticking Acme bomb when she unwraps it. 

She doesn’t. Instead she lifts out a black helmet with an iridescent purple visor. Sombra looks up at Widow quizzically. 

“There’s more,” Widow says. Sombra leans over the box and there, sitting at the bottom, is a set of keys. She picks them up and dangles them in front of Widow. 

“Seriously?” Sombra says. 

Widow plucks the keys from her. “I had fun,” she says. “And I thought you did too.”

Sombra swallows. “I did.” Widow looks up from playing with the keys and the haughty expression she’d adopted cracks a little. She smiles. Sombra leans over and kisses her. “Is this one as good as the other bike I drove?”

“Akande owed us a favor.”

“Fuck yeah he did.” Sombra down at the other box. “I can’t believe you got me more.”

Widow begins to fidget again. “Open it.”

Sombra does, this time more eager. This one is a cream colored garment box and when Sombra lifts the lid, she finds swathes of dark purple tissue paper. She unfolds them to find riding leather pants and a leather jacket. And a leather harness.

Sombra leans up and kisses Widow. “I hope you got a matching outfit,” she says. Widow looks down and somehow, blue skin and all, she flushes.

“I wasn’t sure you’d like it,” Widow says. Sombra laughs.

“Come on,” Sombra says. She takes the keys out of Widow’s palm. “I’ll drive us to the store.”

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I'm aware it makes me sound like your mom but it makes me so anxious to see people biking on city streets without helmets. Wear your helmets and clean your rooms.
> 
> Thank you Robo for the Widow in yoga pants inspiration 💜
> 
> I’m [@tacticalgrandma](https://twitter.com/tacticalgrandma) on twitter if you want to talk to me there!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos would mean the world to me 💜


End file.
